Before there were rivers, before there were mountains, before the first bird had ever opened its throat to sing — there was silence. And in that silence, Prajapati stirred.

He was the first. The Creator. The one who would make everything that came after. And the first thing he felt, alone in that vast emptiness, was a longing to share it with someone.

So he created beings. Not one or two, but thousands upon thousands — creatures that crawled and creatures that flew, beings that would one day build cities and beings that would live quietly under leaves. He poured himself out the way a lamp pours out light: not because someone asked, but because that is what a lamp does.

But Prajapati was wise. He knew that simply existing was not enough. A seed placed on a rock does not grow. It needs soil, rain, sun, and the patience of a season. His creatures would need something too — a way to nourish one another, a thread to stitch them together so they would not drift apart like sparks from a fire.

So along with the beings, he created yajña — sacrifice. Not the kind that hurts, but the kind that gives. The act of offering. The farmer who sets aside grain for next year's planting. The mother who eats last so her children eat first. The river that pours itself into the sea knowing the clouds will carry it back.

He held this gift out to the newborn world and spoke the first words anyone had ever heard:

"Through this, you shall prosper. This is the Kamadhuk — the cow that grants every wish. But listen carefully: it only gives milk when you give first."

The creatures blinked at each other. Some understood immediately — the bees, who share nectar with flowers so flowers can share pollen with the wind. The trees, who drop their fruit for animals who carry their seeds to distant hills. They had been practising sacrifice before they even had a name for it.

Others would take longer to learn. They would hoard, grab, fight over scraps, and wonder why the world felt empty. But the gift was always there, waiting — like a well that never runs dry, if only someone would lower the bucket.

Krishna traced a circle in the air as he told this story. "This is how it has been since the beginning, Arjuna. The universe runs on giving. Not on taking. The moment you give, the wheel turns, and everything comes back to you — not because you asked, but because that is how the wheel works."